Spring Sunrise on Mt Hood
Posted By admin on May 13, 2009
Spring Sunrise on Mt Hood
Straight from the Heart
The signs are widespread throughout the Mt Hood national forest, from surging creeks and rivers at lower elevations to receding piles of snow above.
It’s a time of the year that everyone (except that ski bum to the core) anticipates with eagerness not unlike the feeling you get when the first snowflake hits the ground in the fall. But this time it’s watching that same flake disappear that brings a bounce to our step. The contrast of green vegetation emerging up through a persistent snow bank covered in dirt is a beautiful scene. Seeing this display reminds me of staggering onto the front deck straight from the covers and stretching under the morning sunshine. What that light will do for the tired but eager!
It also reminds how resilient the natural world can be. How saplings and lichen smothered under heaps of snow will perk up when warm rays reach them. And how young trees bent and twisted into the ground will flex back towards the sky once the weight has melted away.
Old Path, New Surroundings
This season is a sweet and delicious period for our senses coming back to life. Certainly the winter season has much to offer in the way of sensory treats, but how does it compare to new grass on the lakeshore, or algae growing along the river, or blooming wildflowers? Our eyes are wide, nostrils engaged with fresh mountain air, and our spirit is singing.
It was with this in mind that brought me to Clear Lake recently for a mountain sunrise with my canine friend, Tischer. The winter season is harder to push away the further you drive up highway 26, and so the snow barricade blocking the access road still lingered.
But with no sunshine yet spreading through the forest and early twilight suppressing the temperature, progress was swift down the hard packed, vacant white avenue. And at the roads end where the old growth opens up to a stump lined body of water, we approached the lakes edge.
Walking along the masked shoreline, Tischer struggled to find firmer snow for her four small feet. Instead she waded in soft white mush leaving a dark wake of saturated snow, obviously having crossed from dry land to the softening shallows. Knowing this lake well from three years of exploring around its banks, I knew she was safe.
Noticing that I had found a perch atop a sawed off stump, she matched my steps to join me. Looking out across the north arm of the lake, a contour line circled the inner two thirds and contained an impressive turquoise color. From this to exposed areas of sand and rock held together by ice crystals, signals of changing conditions were everywhere.
This is why Tischer and I had come. I wanted to witness the affects of spring on a landscape we’ve watched change throughout all of the Cascades seasons. From paddling across open water to skating the frozen surface to watching the last portion of winter melt away with the breeze, we have been part of this place.
Sunrise Inspires
And I could think of no better time to witness this than at sunrise. Though Tischer much preferred to jab her paw at thinly frozen puddles, I appreciated that we were at a confluence of transitions. A matter of minutes when the sun crests the horizon and sheds light, warmth, and energy across the land-and on a bigger scale a day in spring when little by little, ice layers thin, critters emerge, and the foundation for growth establishes itself.
And the two are as connected as rubber boots and mud puddles.
All across The Villages you’ll find this, just as you will across the state of Oregon. But the difference is the allure of watching the alpenglow on Mount Hood and the appeal of a warm woodstove. Because when the sun sets up here on a waning spring evening it slowly closes a chapter of the story, and it still gets a little bit chilly.
But along with it your eyes will be wide and your spirit will sing.
Wonderful article. I been looking for one on a similar note. I guess you always have something up your sleeve.